Potential
by Evelyn Reid
Summary: He pretends she's someone else; she pretends he loves her. It's all part of the fantasy, and it's her own fault if she gets hurt. Spike/OC Set end of season 7. Rated M for sexual scenes and language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own Buffy or Spike or any other characters of the universe, but I do own Eris.

* * *

There was an emptiness in me that grew each time he came to me. He never said a word; he never needed to. As soon as I sensed his presence in my room, I would yield to him. It was never at his place, always mine; he probably felt it would break the illusion if he brought me into his home. He never undressed me or himself, and he preferred the room pitch black, anything to preserve the fantasy. He left immediately after, not even bothering to wait until closer to morning. I was a means to an end, a method of release.

He didn't bother with foreplay, didn't kiss me, hardly touched me at all and no more than was necessary; often he entered me dry, pushing despite the protests of my unprepared, unyielding body. I never achieved orgasm with him. In the beginning, that didn't bother me. It was enough that he was there with me, and until the emptiness came I was satisfied with that.

I used to touch him, as much as he allowed; hands on his chest, his arms, his back, but never his face. As his visits became more frequent and his actions more violent, I stopped touching. I lay on my back against the mattress, motionless except when he moved me. Whereas I used to watch his face through the dark as he thrust atop me, I now focused on a single spot on the ceiling. He stilled, finished, and rolled off of me. This time was the most painful for me, not just emotionally. I stood from the bed, drawing his surprised gaze, and left him for the first time.

I made my way to the bathroom down the hall, fluid dripping down my thigh. Blood, my blood, mingled with his essence and my insides stung. Something tore this time. I made the shower water scorching and waited until the steam began to rise before stepping beneath the stream.

I almost didn't notice him in the doorway of the bathroom, lingering in the hallway. His eyes watched the blood; I waited a while before washing it away, my fingers exploring the extent of the damage. I flinched in pain, allowing my face to form expressions I kept hidden in his presence.

He left without another word, and I didn't see him for three days after. When he came back again, I could feel that something big was happening. It was the eve of the battle; I could feel the buzz of the darkness. Everyone else had left Sunnydale, the power was out, and I had spent the last three days curled in my bed waiting to die. The bed dipped when he sat on its edge. I didn't roll over to look at him. I simply waited.

A year of this. A _year_. In the beginning I allowed myself to hope, I actually thought someday he might–but no. He didn't. He never would. I could see that clearly now.

He had gone off and gotten a soul. Gotten a soul for_ her_. It didn't bother me at first, not when I was living in la-la land, but now I could see how stupid and naive I was. Why would he want me anyway when he's had her? I wouldn't want me either. Why have human when you could have Slayer? Who wanted the reject Potential who wasn't activated, not even by the powerful magic of the Slayer's witch best friend?

I was the only one not activated. Why? Why me? What was wrong with me?

He leaned close to me over the bed; I had the sheets pulled up to my neck, and he put his hand on my arm over the fabric. "Get up, pet."

_Pet_. First time he'd ever addressed me as pet. He never gave me a nickname. That was for people he cared about; for the Slayer and the Key and the witch and–not me. My body stiffened, but not just because of 'pet'. I could smell her on him. Not in the way he could smell, but I'd been in the Slayer's house–that fucking perfume only belonged to one person. So that's where he'd been. He didn't need me anymore, not when _she_ was paying attention to him.

"Get out." The words left before I could stop them. I was furious at him, I _hated_ him–except I didn't. I knew I didn't, and that just pissed me off more.

"You're gonna want to get out of here," he said. "Big battle at the Hellmouth, potential apocalypse, death and destruction the whole bit. Best if you were good and gone before that."

"Get out, Spike."

I stood from the bed, throwing a shirt over my head. I leaned against the windowsill, finally facing him, with my arms across my chest. Adding that little extra bit of distance eased some of the pain in my chest. He was scowling.

"You even listening, pet? You hear me?"

"Loud and clear." I met his eyes evenly. That blue still made my knees shake, but with the sill and my anger bracing me upright, I was more stable than ever. "Really very noble of you, warning the reject. Absolves you of your sins if you save my life, right?"

"Look," he said, getting frustrated. "I don't wanna see you–"

"See me die? Awe, that's so sweet, Spike." I let my hands grasp the sill when they started to shake. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Bloody hell, pet, if I knew you were gonna be this difficult–"

"Stop," I whispered.

"What?"

"Stop calling me that." I push off from the sill, start pacing. "You've never done it before, don't start now."

"What the fuck does that matter? I'm only tryin'a keep you from getting killed." He stood up, his leather duster sweeping around his legs. God, the smell of her perfume was going to make me sick. She always smelled like it, even when she was covered in dirt or blood or ash. It always clung to her skin as if it were leaking out of her pores, and now it clung to him the same way. Maybe I was just hypersensitive.

"I know I'm not strong enough, don't have to rub it in." He didn't say anything, and my voice cracked when I said, "You've been with her, haven't you?"

At least he had the decency to look apologetic. "Listen, pet–"

"Don't have to explain," I said. I shrugged, trying to play it off, but my entire body was trembling now. "Who needs the replacement when you have the real thing?"

"You're not–"

"Not the replacement?" I started laughing. "Don't insult my intelligence, Spike, by pretending you care, or that you ever cared." I stopped and looked at him, tilting my head like he usually did. "Why are you still here? You have a battle to get to. A pretty exciting one, it sounds like."

"Please." He was on his feet, towering over me. I was a small girl, and back when I first met him this stance had been intimidating. Vampire saying please, that's a first too. "Eris."

I felt the blood drain from my face, my jaw slacking. He finally said my name. I'd always been 'you'. Now in one night, I had gone from 'you' to 'pet' to my name.

"Get out of Sunnydale," he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn't catch it. "Be safe."

I was almost prepared to listen to him, until my eyes caught the shining amulet that hung around his neck, and I choked on my next breath. I hiccupped once, and then I was laughing again. I knew what the amulet was, what it meant.

"Oh that's rich," I said. "You almost had me believing–but no, you don't really. The Slayer's gone and made you her Champion, and that's why you're trying to be noble." I stepped back from him, eyes trailing over his face, the curve of his neck, the body I knew was hidden beneath that duster. I felt the all-too-familiar feeling well up in my heart; it stung like a freshly opened wound, and I stomped it back down. "Get out," I said again.

"Eris–"

My eyes blurred with tears and suddenly I was screaming. "Get out. Get out!"

He left me, and even though it was what I'd asked–demanded, really–it still crushed me. He always left first. Why the fuck did he always get to leave first?

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A/N: Will be more than this if people like it. I have a plan for more.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: She's a glutton for punishment, what can I say?

* * *

_I saw him for the first time at the Bronze. I wasn't aware of my Potential status, not at that point anyway. I had no Watcher; my step-father, who had passed away when I was thirteen, was supposed to have been my Watcher. Why the council hadn't sent someone else, I'll never know. They probably figured they wouldn't need me; Sunnydale had the Slayer._

_He was looking for someone, and I gulped down the rest of my drink. He was beautifully handsome, carved and chiseled in an inhuman way. His eyes passed over me, lingering just a moment longer than on everyone else, and I fooled myself into thinking he was interested in me. I was quite naive back then. I was absolutely smitten with him, and I hadn't even spoken to him yet._

_I smoothed my red-blonde hair and got up to try and find him, and find him I did-he was standing by a column, pressed flat against a blonde woman whom I recognized instantly. Buffy fucking Summers, the pride of Sunnydale. I heard the rumors, the whispers about her and something supernatural. Of course she'd be hiding a gorgeous man. I watched them, guiltily, and afterwards I would touch myself to the thought that it was me instead of her._

_I saw him a few times after that, but he was always looking for her, always preoccupied. Then he disappeared and he came back different. He carried himself differently, he acted different, he no longer looked for her. I approached him first, swaying slightly from the effects of my liquid courage. I knew what he was by that point-I'd been attacked by a vampire, a fledgling. I knew they existed. I didn't know I was a Potential yet; I thought I was just lucky._

_He was depressed and I knew it. He pitied himself. He hated himself. I sauntered up to him with my best smile and my fakest confidence, and I propositioned him. He looked at me, saw my blonde hair so like hers, and he had me up against the wall in a breath. Then he was in me, groaning in my ear as he filled me, and it was everything I'd ever wanted. I moaned his name- "Don't talk," he said. "Don't."_

_I obeyed, because I never wanted him to stop. I fell really, truly in love with him in that moment. My infatuation with the man, the vampire, had taken a drastic turn._

_What did I really know about him? Everything._

_While he pined after the Slayer, I observed. I listened. I watched. I learned more about him in a month after our first tryst together than the Slayer would ever even care to know._

_And he still chose her._

_I had a dream once, that he loved me. His touch was gentle, his lips slow and sensual on mine. I awoke from the dream panting, sweating, and I realized that just the thought of him loving me was enough to uproot my whole world._

* * *

I went to the battle at the Hellmouth, if only to spite him. It didn't work; Slayers were dying all around me, some trying to protect me, and Spike didn't even see I was there. I wanted to run over to him, shake him, scream at him to look at me, really look at me. Every time I opened my mouth, he shouted out Buffy's name.

It tore me apart.

Kennedy had saved me a few times, and when she finally paused her frantic blows to look at my face, she scowled at me. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she shouted above the din. "Trying to get yourself killed? Trying to get us killed?"

I staked a vampire just as another one knocked me to the ground; Kennedy took him out and snarled, "Get the fuck out of here, you idiot!"

Spike's amulet began to glow, destroying the remainder of the Turok-Han, and enveloping him in light. Faith was calling us to retreat, but I was frozen in place. Someone grabbed my arm, began to tow me toward the exit. I was screaming, my eyes locked on Spike.

No, no, no, you selfish bastard, you're not allowed to die, you're not allowed to leave first anymore-

I dimly registered Buffy approaching him. Whoever had grabbed my arm now had a firm hold around my middle, dragging me. I was struggling for Spike, but his eyes-

Why won't you look at me? Why her? Why is it always her?

I was halfway up the steps of the Hellmouth when I heard it, as clear as if the Slayer were right in front of me:

"I love you."

I shrieked so loudly my voice cut out. I don't remember getting to the bus. I don't remember driving away. I remember hoping the Slayer had died. I remember praying for it, harder than I've ever prayed for anything.

Why would you tell him that? How dare you, after everything you've put him through?

The worst part was, with all those deaths-the ex-vengeance demon, all the New Slayers, Spike-no one mourned. Not one of them. They talked casually while standing in front of the fucking crater Sunnydale had become, as if a bunch of people they claimed to care about hadn't just died.

What really got me, what really sealed it, was that Buffy had the nerve to smile.

There was no place for me with them; that was made abundantly clear with all the new activated Slayers in the world. Buffy, her Watcher, the witch-all of them, the ones Spike had called Scoobies, were going to form this new organization. A Slayer Army. Where did the failed Potential fit in?

* * *

A/N: From here on out, it's going to be pretty AU with a splash of flashbacks. Thoughts?


End file.
